Flawed
by Black-Neko-Chan
Summary: He was flawed, he was broken, he was incomplete. Hell, why stop there? He wasn't even a real person. But up until now he hadn't cared. Up until he saw the angel and tried to grasp for something he could never have. Deathshipping


Yo peoples! Okay, this is a onesided Deathshipping fic, with some slight mentions of Thiefshipping (because I heart it so) and Tendershipping (which I actually hate. A lot. So why in the world did I add it??) Anyways, I used no names in this, so just so you all know, "the original," meaning the first personality, would be Marik (the hikari --I know that everyone else uses Malik for him, but I don't so deal with it), "the spirit" would be Bakura, and "the angel" would be lovely little Ryou.

**Disclaimer:** Black-Neko-Chan is too tired at the moment to write something funny (because instead of being sane and putting this up tomorrow morning, she decided "Hey! Let's do it tonight!"), so she does not own Yu-Gi-Oh.

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He was flawed, he was broken, he was incomplete. Hell, why stop there? He wasn't even a real person. Not in the literal sense anyways. He was just a separate personality brought to life by the original, a scared little boy without any friends who had only known of pain and lonliness. He had no body of his own, just the one of the original personality, the one who'd made him. He didn't even have his own name. Again, what he called himself was just a variation on the original's name. Even so, none of that had bothered him. Up until now he hadn't cared. Why would he? Life was so much easier hiding in the shadow of the original, watching as he got blamed for the things he hadn't done. As long as he had control of the body once in a while, he was fine with the fact that he was flawed. At least, up until he saw the angel and tried to grasp for something he could never have.

The first time he saw the angel was through the eyes of the original. At first glance he hadn't cared much for him at all, because he hadn't really seen the angel, he had only seen the spirit. The spirit made a deal with his creator to help him get the god cards in exchange for the Sennen Rod. He grew angry when the original agreed, because it was _his_ Rod, it had reacted to _him_, but he soon decided that was okay after all. It would give him a good excuse to kill the spirit the next time he took possession of the original's body.

While he was musing on how exactly to kill the spirit, said spirit decided to injure himself. His attention was instantly directed to the flowing blood, and then he saw the spirit change. Everything about him became different suddenly, and his initial thought was that perhaps this person had a second personality too. Then he saw the angel, weak and pathetic and unconscious, and he stopped thinking. He watched, completely silent the entire time, as the original brought the injured angel to his friends.

The second time he saw the angel was through the eyes of the original again. He was in the midst of trying to ignore the feelings the original felt, loathing the way it felt like _he_ was feeling them too, like it was _his_ heart that sped up every time they made eye contact with the spirit's cold gaze and like they were _his_ lips the curled up in such a stupid grin. It was disgusting and vile and horrible, and for a second he almost wished he were a separate person so he would not have to feel these things. And then _finally_ the spirit disappeared, and all the original felt was a brief tinge of concern. He looked up through the original's eyes then and saw the angel.

His pale face was coated in a sheen of sweat and pain warped his featured. He gripped tightly at his injured arm and wobbled on unsteady feet. He stood in front of an army of fiends that the spirit had summoned, and while such monsters had been perfect for him to wield, the stark difference between them and the angel was immense. They were horrible and terrifying and disgusting, and he was holy and perfect and comforting. Just being near the angel made even a creature like him, born from the hatred and despair of the original, feel relaxed and at ease. And the pained expression combined with his delicate condition just made him seem all the more fragile and desirable.

Suddenly the original's petty emotions didn't seem so foolish. They almost made sense even. And for the first time he truly wished that he possessed his own body, and that he could go up to the angel and see if his wicked hand would touch him or would just go right through.

Then his angel was gone and the damn spirit was back, and he could feel the original's worry rise exponentially as the spirit was struck by the attack of the god, and the only thought he could think of was the original's, so powerful with their concern –_is he okay is he okay is he okay is he okay_– that they overrode even his own. And he hated both the original because the only one he cared about was the spirit, and the spirit because he had taken away his angel.

So when he took control of the body, he was delighted to be given the chance to get rid of the both of them. His foolish, foolish original had gone to the spirit for help, and now he would banish both of them to the Shadow Realm and he would have the angel all to himself.

But it didn't happen that way. Everything went perfectly; the Pharaoh and his companions left, which allowed him to do whatever he wanted to the angel. But that wasn't the problem. When he banished the spirit to the Shadow Realm he had somehow done something to the angel as well. Now he was silent and unresponsive, comatose. He didn't speak, he didn't move, he didn't open his eyes. He just lied there, cold, beautiful, and asleep.

He thought that perhaps it would be okay. If the angel were to awaken then surely he would be burned by the fire of his grace and purity. If the angel were to awaken then he would see him in all of his wicked glory and see all of the vile things he was planning on going. No, perhaps this was better that the angel stay asleep.

He discovered that the angel wasn't _completely_ unresponsive. When he touched him, the angel shivered and trembled. When he kissed his slack lips, he could hear the faintest panting noises and moaning. That made his blood catch fire and those small responses encouraged him to keep going. Somewhere, though he was asleep and couldn't wake, his angel could still feel everything. On some level his angel knew, and he didn't seem to mind.

He touched him more. He ran his fingers and hands over every inch of skin revealed to him as well as the parts that weren't, reveling in every minute shiver and sensation his angel made. He wanted to feel more. Now that the original was gone and the body was all his, he could feel things so much cleared. He could see all of the colors in the world and could touch and feel the textures the original had never been able to show him. He had a much better understanding of how good and pure and holy the angel was, and how wicked and evil he was. He wanted to take all of that goodness and have it for himself, even if just for a few minutes. He wanted to take the angel and to grab ahold of his soul and keep it.

He touched the angel and kissed him and then he took his purity and his innocence. He grabbed onto what made the angel special and he tore it away and hid it deep within his own wickedness. Anything that was offered to him he stole, and he felt complete while doing it. He felt like his flaws and his mistakes and the endless darkness that hung off him was gone, taken by his angel perhaps, and that here, complete, without the presence of the original, he was whole. He was a person. And then the angel spoke the spirit's name.

He froze. All the feelings, good and bad, left him, and he was empty. Then, slowly, a horrid rage began to fill him, turning his sight red and making his body shake. He pulled away from the angel, still as beautiful and as perfect as before but now disgustingly so, and he hit him. Now the angel inhaled sharply and said the spirit's name again, and he hit him once more. Then he hit the angel again, and again, and again, and his mind was blinded by rage and fury and he _hate hate hated_ the spirit, _loathed_ the spirit, because it was supposed to be _his_ angel, not the damn spirit's!

Things became fuzzy after that. The burning rage and hatred he felt at the spirit and the angel warped his thoughts and his memory. He remembered damning the spirit and wishing that he had somehow killed him instead of merely banishing him. He remembered being with the angel again and hearing him call out the spirit's name. He remembered wishing that he could somehow awaken the angel and force him to look at him and see him, to call him by his name and not the spirit's, to see him for him, even if he wasn't him but was only a different version of the original. He remembered the fierce ache in his heart, a heart that was not his own but the original's, reminding him of how much he wanted the angel and laughing about how flawed and pathetic he was.

The Pharaoh and his friends returned eventually, and of course he had to duel him then. He discovered that he hadn't achieved the banishing of the original to the Shadow Realm after all, and that now his creator knew of his existence and hated him. That was all okay though, maybe even better, because the appearance of the original certainly had made for an interesting shadow game between him and the Pharaoh.

He lost in the end. He wasn't sure how it had happened, how it could have happened. At least not right away. But as the Pharaoh used his own shadow magic against him and he felt himself disappear, blink out entirely from existence, he understood that this was his punishment.

He was flawed, he was broken, he was incomplete. Maybe all people were to some extent. But then again, he wasn't a person. He was just a personality created from the deep sorrow and anger and hatred in the original's soul. He was not the original and so now he would fade away and his creator would take his place, and then the original would be complete once more and he would be gone. He'd been born from the darkness and to the darkness he would return. That was what made him flawed, more so than any normal person was, and that was why he would not be able to have the angel. The angel was perfect and godly, and he was just a lowly creature of wickedness and evil. If all people had flaws then the angel had one too, but only one, and that was the spirit. He needed the spirit to be his flaw, and because the spirit was his flaw and because he was an angel and as such only needed one, there was no room for any others. He was a creature with many flaws and the angel only had one. He had reached for something that was not his to take, and he had been burned in the process. He wondered if the angel even knew. And then he was gone.

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M'kay, that was it so tell me how it was, and drop me a review please! Thanks!


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